


Man of war.

by greysora



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of religion, light fluff, mentions of internal homophobia, san is precious, san-centeric, war based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greysora/pseuds/greysora
Summary: All good things come to an end. Happiness is never a long-term emotion, there will always be that something which burst your bubble, rips your patched up life apart, or worse. It could feel like sulking and pouting, or it could feel like the entire world you've known? Comes raining down, burning and painful. The comforting blue of the sky that blankets over you safely, the stars that light your way at night? Cut loose and shredded.For San, it felt like silently watching a merciless finger drill a long nail into his chest, carving it out and stealing his most treasured belongings and memories buried deep within him, tucked safely under his heart. And he can only stare, unable to move. But, it's a cycle, he learns. Sometimes good things will happen, and the demons you will encounter in your journey will sometimes manage to rain on your parade. But the universe is generous, and will reward you for pulling through. Hence the cycle. After all, life can't always be sunny.





	Man of war.

_ War. _

_ Cold, merciless, unforgiving _.

  
  


At nine, San first hears of it. It's in their local church, does he catch the wrinkly woman besides his praying mother utter it. He later asks his mother about it, but she remains silent.

The reason behind many men opting to flee their beloved country before _ it was too late. _ The cause of missing cases, injuries, mental insanity, and even death. A word which, at first, makes no sense to such children like San. Yet, much later on, is the cause of his own emotional calamity. The words of which his father would boast and brag about successfully completing, except it was only successful because he couldn't comprehend the damage done inside. The emotional scars that are gaping open and only those surrounding him could spot easily. Even San, nine year old San. It's only years later he recognizes the reasons, but as a child he sees those scars through the yells of fury and violence he endures from his father. Bruises and scars, physically and mental.

Enlistment.

  
  
  


_ -What if I don't want to? _

_ -Don't be ridiculous, you will bring shame _

_ onto this family if you flee. _

  
  
  


He's thirteen, when a rowdy boy named Mingi moves into the vacant house besides his own. He's blonde, and _ loud _. He attends San's school, and San makes his mind up that he doesn't like him after a single class because Mingi leaves a trail of trouble everywhere he goes. Like a hurricane. Maybe San doesn't actually hate him, maybe he just envies his carefree attitude to everything. Either way, he avoids this boy as much as he can, which proves to be difficult, because Mingi is similar to a leech. Or a parasite, San would say that fits too. The blonde follows him around everywhere, constant chattering and buzzing energy flowing. He isn't even put off by the lack of response from San's end, and it flickers some curiosity in him. He wonders why the blonde doesn't give up and make other friends, when he clearly has the energy for it.

“Doesn't it bother you?” San interrupts Mingi's rambling. They're sat in the farthest and darkest corner of the cafeteria for lunch, San leaning a little against the wall and Mingi sat across from him, elbows leaning against the table.

He tilts his head in question, but still asks, “what bothers me?”

“I almost never speak back to you. Why do you still try to befriend me?”

It's quiet between them, and Mingi pushes his tongue against his cheek while he seems to roll the question around in his mind. San trains his gaze on him, waiting a little impatiently for an answer.

Eventually, the blonde's lips stretch into a cheshire-like grin.

“You looked like you needed company.” At that, San throws a piece of salad from his plate at Mingi, who laughs and bats it away. The answer seems like a jab, but it feels like the misty wall of foggy caution and distaste San put between them is clearing up. 

And it's the start of their long term friendship. 

San's least favourite subject is History. The stories of war and evil leaders makes him feel a little squeamish. It doesn't help that his teacher constantly reminds her class that the war is not over.

The civil defense sirens have always made him feel queasy whenever there is an alert signal, and at first, he couldn't cope with keeping up with the instructions. Panic would flow through his body, leaving him frantically rushing to hide under his desk. Terror would claw at his small body and his voice would pitch higher with wails of anxiety.

Now, he has Mingi's fingers to gently wrap around his wrist, leading him to join the rest of his class in taking cover where instructed. He stubbornly remains besides him until San can breathe. _ ( _ “ _ I'll always be here to bring you back,” Mingi smiles as he wraps his pinkie around San's chubbier one, “that's a promise.” San laughs and cringes, “stop being so cheesy, fool.”). _

It's embarrassing that San isn't and can't get used to it, and he thinks that one day there won't be any Mingi to provide comfort and guidance. 

And the day comes sooner than later. 

San will never forget the look of wild panic twist and flicker in his teacher's eyes as– for the first time– a red alert alarm began to wail in the midst of their mathematics session. The memory of Mingi's fingers frantically latching onto his upper arm, yelling words into his ear. But San could not hear, and it wasn't due to the utter chaos surrounding them as students flocked around with terror in attempts to save themselves, anything and everything they have been taught and ordered to do shall a red alert alarm ring seemingly forgotten. His own mind shrieks at him, and he feels in a daze, unable to comprehend that this is really happening. 

The rest of the day is foggy, he remembers waking up in hospital with some minor injuries. His mother prayed next to him, tears staining the taut skin of her cheeks. His father remained silent, seething with anger at San's failure to comply with the given procedure for alert alarms. He refused to listen, when San tried to tearfully explain the havoc state the entire school was in. It seemed to anger his father more, who forcefully wiped at San's cheeks, leaving a bruise blossoming in his trail.

He doesn't see Mingi again, and, at sixteen, he's left to wonder whether his best friend is breathing and living amongst them, or buried in the ground underneath his feet.

  
  


_ That boy? _

_ Who knows? he vanished. _

_ Thin air. Probably dead, yknow? _

  
  


He meets Yeosang in the last year of his teens, second year of college. A pretty boy with sharp yet kind eyes and bubblegum pink hair. He's short and a little awkward. He reminds San of a kitten. They become friends pretty easily, and San doesn't really understand how considering it's mostly jabs they throw at each other. It helps that they study the same major– Medicine.

_ Nerds, _ Yunho, a childhood friend of Yeosang calls them. He majors in Music production and always lets them hear anything new he's working on. Yunho is cute and easily flustered, he's fun to hang around with, San decides.

  
  


San has never thought much of sexuality. He grew up in a religious household, so he reckons he ought to be strictly into girls. But he doesn't think he is. It's a topic San avoided thinking of like the plague, because it felt _ wrong _to explore the subject to which only one answer was correct. Or at least, he thought it was until he met Yeosang. 

_ “I don't like girls anyways.” Yeosang shrugs, uninterested in the female lead Yunho gushes about in this overly-dramatic series. _

_ “You don't like girls?” San glances over at him, unsure of what to say. It's the first time he's heard such words, and it goes against everything he's learnt, everything drilled into him. _

_ Eyeing him intently, Yeosang nods. From the corner of his eye, San can see Yunho still, eyes burning into his frame too. _

_ “I like guys. San, I'm gay.” Yeosang lowers his voice a little when a group of laughing students walk past them. _

_ “Oh.” Yunho visibly relaxes, now that he realises that San isn't about to react in a violent manner. _

_ Sans mulls over Yeosang's words. He thinks about everything he was taught, his father's harsh words and his mother's disgusted glances. _

_ “I thought it was wrong…” he trails off after catching Yunho share a look with Yeosang, who then says, “it's not.” _

_ Yunho smiles, “it's okay to be who you are.” _

_ San nods, and the conversation picks up and moves subject. _

He learns from Yeosang, and accepts he isn't entirely into girls. He doesn't label himself like Yeosang. Because even after multiple crushes on guys and having even secretly dated one of Yunho's classmates, the words ingrained into his mind from childhood remain. He's afraid to label himself.

Because labelling himself will make it real. 

  
  


_ Just be yourself, _

_ there's nothing wrong with _

_ who you are, y'know? _

  
  


San's graduation party is quiet, just himself and his mother dining in some fancy restaurant San has never heard of. _ Your father couldn't make it, _ San gives her credit for attempting to look disappointed. It isn't a secret her husband is not fond of his son. And San isn't stupid, the man probably does not even know what he studied. Well, San guesses he can't blame him. After all, his father wanted a strong and muscular man, but was instead _ gifted _ with a scrawny and tiny child.

She pays for his meal and congratulates him in what he supposes is intended to be a warmly manner. Nevertheless, he silently feasts on the meal in front of him, not forgetting to pray with his mother for her sake. Because San doesn't pray anymore, he's stopped years ago, uncaring much for faith and it's laws.

He looks at his mother while she fusses with her plate. It's only then that he really looks at her and realises she's visually aged as San grew. She catches him staring and asks if he wants more. Politely, almost too polite for the way one would interact with his own blood, San declines. Instead, he makes a lousy excuse about having to hand Yeosang some documents he forgot, and leaves.

Another minute in there playing pretend would have made his skin crawl.

He graduates at twenty-two, and moves in with Yeosang some months later. His parents are swimming in money, and he invites San to live with him. _ Because it's boring and lonely without a little laughter, _ Yeosang shrugs when San asks why. 

It's a taste of _ freedom, _ for San. Away from the toxic environment of his own home, the monstrous nature of his parents. For San, it's like he's finally _ living _and not just trying to survive. It's fun, being Yeosang's housemate. They have mini lunch dates, movie nights in with Yunho sometimes, and the likes. 

Almost like a gasp for fresh air after almost losing himself to strong currents underwater. Clean cut, burning his lungs a little from the unfamiliarity of it all. 

  
  


The word enlistment doesn't ring about until almost a year later, when Yeosang can't sleep one night so he's sprawled over San's bed, chattering mostly to himself since the other is occupied with the book in hand.

“Have you ever thought about enlisting?” Yeosang speaks casually, not realising the man besides him has completely stilled at the mention of the word. Of course he doesn't, San has never mentioned a word of his past to him or anyone for that matter.

“I mean, we're not doing anything this year. We're like,” he continues, gesturing his hands around in the air above him, “lost sheep. We should just get it over and done with.”

He's met with silence, and that's when it occurs to him to _ look up _.

“Hey, San?”

San shakes his head a little, blinking himself out of the past memories he threw himself into.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

“I…” he chuckles a little softly, a tinge of sadness in his voice, “was hoping it wasn't too late to leave the country.”

It is. A man is not permitted to leave the country within three years to the age of twenty-six, shall they attempt to escape the duty. San knows this, but still _ hopes. _

Yeosang snorts, “we could have ran in our third year of college, and now it is too late.”

At the confirmation, San's eyes slowly slip shut. He thinks maybe Yeosang has a point, maybe it's less painful to just dive into it now, rather than wait for time to stop ticking. He figures he has nothing to lose, and if a war breaks out, then he'll at least bring his parents the honour they so deeply desire. Whether he personally delivers it or dies trying.

Deep breath, “yeah, okay.”

  
  
  


_ -You'll have me, right by your side. _

_ -Oh, _

_ those words sound familiar, reminds me of an old friend. _

_ -Who? _

  
  


Hands damp with nervous sweat, San shakes hands with his sergeant in charge at twenty-four years of age. Sohn Hyun-woo, his name tag reads, and San feels tiny under his built frame. His hands, large but surprisingly soft, grip San's own in a firm hold.

“Welcome aboard, Choi San.” San shivers a little and bows a ninety degree bow. It causes Hyunwoo to tut, but not unkindly, “back straight, Choi.” He scrambles to an upright standing position, heart beating quickly in embarrassment and some fear.

Slowly, Hyunwoo lifts his own hand to his head. Fingers straight, he tilts his palm slightly upward, and brushes his fingers just above his eyebrow. Then he stares at San, eyebrow raised in expectation. San copies him slowly, willing his hand to stop trembling as he hears a snicker break out between the men behind him. However, once Hyunwoo raises his eyes to look behind San, the mockery is immediately silenced. San lets out a small breath, realising this will be harder than he would like.

After Hyunwoo handed him a single key and small paper with his dorm room number, San leaves the room and wanders down the halls in search of his room. Anxiety trickles down his chest the closer he gets. Here, they are paired in groups of three, and he prays his two roommates are easy to get along with. Or bearable, San can work with bearable. He wishes Yeosang was here, but the pink haired was assigned to a different base along with Yunho.

The door to his room appears before him before he realises, too lost in his own storm of nerves. He almost knocks on the wooden surface before mentally telling himself off, it's his _ own _room.

Inhaling deeply, he pushes the door open and enters ever so slowly.

The sight before him is _ nothing _ like the multiple scenarios that ran through his head. He imagined two, rough looking men, muscles so big that it'd be almost breaking their skin. Serious looking and a little _ scary _. Instead he's met with two rather skinnier boys, one of them sprawled on the floor with tears streaking his cheeks as he laughs. The other straddles his thighs and mercilessly attacks him with tickles. They abruptly stop, heads snapping up once they hear San entrance.

The breath is harshly pushed out of San lungs, and his eyes widen in utter shock as he stares in disbelief at one of the two men. Past memories of his early teens rush through him so fast, so fast that he staggers back a little. His eyes remain focused on the man sitting up, who stands and mirrors San's look of surprise. There's feelings, so much feelings– of shock, relief, happiness and longing– filling San right up to the tip of his throat, blocking it and swelling his eyes with tears.

“Where...” a tear falls, and he doesn't move to wipe it, “where have you–”

He's cut off abruptly, gasping a little as arms coil tightly around his waist. The other man has buried his head in the crook of San's neck, and San can feel hot tears on the soft skin there. And he can't hold back the sob that erupts out of him. His own arms hold the man tighter as he cries, gently rocking them as they weep, years of no contact and being kept guessing in the darkness flowing out of the two.

San's happy, he's_ ecstatic. _

“Who would have ever known?” The man–_ Song Mingi– _ hiccups, “if I had told thirteen year old San he would cry over me some years later, I'd get the nastiest glare his little body could muster.”

“Shut up.” San laughs, feeling so much lighter. He pulls back a little and lets his eyes take in Mingi. His face looks almost exactly the same, except for the small double slits his left eyebrow carries. Where San has lost his baby fat, Mingi remains the same since their childhood, he never carried much fat and that hasn't changed. He has grown much taller, San notes as Mingi towers over him, eyes wandering over San's frame. San glances at the top of Mingi's shaved head and absently wonders if his hair is still blonde.

“You've changed a lot, Choi,” Mingiwhistles, “dare I say you look handsome now.” San pushes at him and Mingi simply giggles.

“You haven't changed one bit,” he clears his throat before asking the question he is _ dying _ for an answer for, “but how...everyone thought you…?”

A small smile shapes Mingi's lips, understanding what San's trying to form a question about.

He shrugs, “mom had us move away to a safer village after...that day. My injuries gave her a fright.” He laughs a little melancholically, and that's when San notices the slight delay in closing in one of Mingi's eyelids, “I guess it wasn't small enough to bypass the laws of enlistment.”

It's then that the third and forgotten presence in the room coughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. San didn't notice him rise and take a seat at the edge of a single bed, pushed against the furthest wall away from the two at the door.

“Oh!” Mingi's face brightens, and San's eyes well with tears again– he really hasn't changed one bit, “meet Jongho!” He points a finger at the boy who smiles and waves a little. He's cute, like a puppy, San thinks.

“Hi, it's nice to meet you.” 

San smiles softly, then nods, “I'm San, I hope we get along well.”

  
  


_ -You're...really here. _

_ -Well, I promised I'd always bring you back, didn't I? _

_ -I missed you, Mingi. _

  
  


Wooyoung comes tumbling into his life at twenty-five, and quite literally. 

It's a late Monday night, and San is on night patrol duty along with Seonghwa, a fairly quiet man who San gets along with pretty well, Hongjoong who is all smiles and sweetness, and Changkyun, who is still young. He covers the north area of their base, Seongwha taking the east and Hongjoong watches the west. That leaves the South base for Changkyun. Who, despite his age, proves to be equally as strong, if not stronger than some of the men of their base.

He is lost in his thoughts, nothing specific, he simply ponders over past events. The moon hangs ever so brightly under the dark blanket of the sky. The cool breeze of summer nights bristles his clothes and ruffles his hair. Their base is surrounded by grass, and San gazes as the blades sway to the instrument the wind plays. He should probably head inside, he thinks as a tiny shiver runs down his spine. The doors leading inside are open behind him from when he entered.

He thinks about his parents, or well, parent. Mr. Choi, as strong as he boasted to be, surrendered to an illness which ran in his blood before he was even born. To San, the incident left him numb. How was he to grieve over someone he never had, someone he lost at birth? To San, he mourned like a stranger. An apology for his mother's loss, and absence from the funeral. 

To his mother, however, it was as if her entire world began to crumble. The loss widened her already open doors to depression. A rush of anger fuelled her, and he channelled it all towards her son. It left a bitter taste in San's mouth, now that his previously half-caring mother was uncaring at all.

A sound breaks his trance, and San's ears instantly prick up. The base is asleep, the only people around at this time being the four patrollers. And they are not to leave their sides until it's time to swap shifts, and that's in an hour. This alerts San, and his body slowly adjusts to his fight or flight instinct. He straightens his back from where he is leaning against the cold brick wall. San's eyes are sharp, a result of harsh training endured for a little under a year. In one swift motion, he assesses the area before him, a patch of grass undisturbed. That leaves one option, the sound came from behind–

He bends his knees and throws himself a little forward, before turning around, caution written all over his body. Before him is nothing and no one, and confusion begins to sink into San's mind. He is sure the sound was something like a footstep. Shaking his head as though to clear it, he moves to head back inside to have a look. As he rounds the corner, a dark figure seems to be walking in San's direction. Though San is small and extremely quick on his feet, the figure's yelp of surprise throws him off, causing the unfamiliar stranger to trip over him and they both stumble back. Once the shock subsides, San is quick on his feet and jumps away from the other man.

“_ Jesus Christ. _ Who the fuck,” he grits his teeth and tries to catch his breath quickly, “are you?”

  
  
  


_ -Jesus? Do I look godly? _

_ -Shut the fuck up, what's your name? _

_ -Wooyoung, yours? _

_ -San. Now, what... _

  
  
  


Talking to Wooyoung is easy, San finds. The man is charming, funny and smart. He's the kind of person younger San would have avoided in high school, the kind of person who would make a good popular kid. But it's only as they talk more that San discovers there's more sides to Wooyoung than mentioned above. He's adorably goofy, and San catches himself smiling hard enough that his cheeks hurt slightly whenever he is with the other. Wooyoung is easily flustered and _ shy, _and it causes the urge to protect him from all kinds of evil to ignite in San. He wants to blanket the other from any kind of harm.

They click pretty easily, and most evenings’ free moments are spent basking in the sunlight with Wooyoung by his side. Sometimes the silence is empty and quiet, others filled with words and emotions. Of course not without Mingi's whines of protest at the lack of evenings spent with him, a knowing glint shimmering in his eyes that San chooses to ignore.

It's fun, and easy. Simple. That's what he tells himself.

He ignores the way he's left a little breathless everytime Wooyoung wraps firm arms around his skinnyl frame, caging and locking him into a safe space, a haven of warmth. He pretends he doesn't notice his mind run miles whenever he catches Wooyoung's firm and toned frame running some extra laps in the courtyard, naked torso covered in a thin sheet of sweat. It makes his body glisten and shimmer prettily in the sun, and more often than not does a slender finger owned by an annoying (previously) blonde slides San's jaw shut. _ “Careful, can't have you swallowing bugs now, can we?” _

_ What, _ he'd have to be blind to not see Wooyoung's beauty and charms. He's attractive, and _ anyone _ can see that.

Somewhere between his fifth and sixth year in the twenties, San catches himself falling, and hard. The fleeting touches shared, the bashful smiles after they make eye contact in some moments and the likes is driving San _ crazy. _

“Mingi!” He wails one night, a little drunk from the bottle of vodka Mingi found in the general's office and _ borrowed. _ Hyunwoo has a soft spot for him anyway.

“I think I'm in love. Not love, like. I'm in like!” 

“You are!” Mingi giggles, “just get married now!”

“But what if-” he throws back another shot, “what if he doesn't like me back?”

Ming shakes his head, “he does, it's obvious!”

“I wanna keep him forever.” San sadly says, tears gathering in his eyes– his drunken antics always included crying, “but what if he doesn't want to keep _ me?” _

An angry hand lands on his back heavily, causing him to yelp in pain.

“Shut up! He has _ stars _ in his eyes when he looks at you. Anyone can see it!" Mingi grumbles.

His palm is soon replaced by gentle ones wiping the tears off San's cheeks. A very sober Jongho squats in front of him, “Hyung, Mingi is right. Wooyoung is whipped, and you can confirm it when you speak to him tomorrow. Now come on, let's get you guys in bed.”

“I'm scared,” San whispers while Jongho pulls his covers up for him. He gently holds his hand and says, “and I promise, there's no reason to be.”

He isn't afraid of love, he's afraid of falling into it alone. He's afraid of falling to the lonely bottom of an upset ocean instead of Wooyoung's comforting arms. And, as strong as San is, he isn't sure he could survive a heartbreak.

Unknown to him, Wooyoung hears the entire conversation, having stood outside. His knuckles float in the air between him and the door, having almost knocked to enter. Quietly, he steps back and turns to walk away, a small smile painting his lips.

(The next morning, San pretends he has no recollection of the entire night and, when Jongho raises an eyebrow at him, he feels a little stupid. He is aware pretending it didn't happen won't make his feelings go away but it helps him avoid having to speak to his roommates about it again).

It's Wooyoung who caves in first (what a surprise, Mingi thinks). The two are laid on San's bed, spending the day off doing absolutely nothing but lazing around. San is laughing at something Wooyoung says, head thrown back and grin so huge. His eyes crinkle and the dimple below his cheek shows itself. Wooyoung simply stares in awe at the man before him. San is ethereal, and he feels an urge to pull him close and embrace his beaming mouth. He watches as San sobers up and glances at Wooyounga little puzzled at his sudden silence.

“Wooyoung,” the soft hand cupping his cheek silences him, and Wooyoung leans in a little, eyes searching San's for something and he isn't even sure what.

Daringly, he leans in until a little inch separates their lips, Sans breath fanning his face. And Wooyoung is so close to throw everything out of the window, so close to shut the gap and kiss San senseless until an anxious feeling stills him. And he backs off, then away from the bed, a little breathless. 

“I'm so sorry..I– I don't know...I–”

“Wooyoung.” San blinks and reaches out to him, “it's okay, I...I want this.”

He cups Wooyoung's face as he kisses him softly, at first, and then he pours his entire heart into their kisses, he shows Wooyoung how much he wants this, how much he feels. Wooyoung responds with the same emotional ferocity, that San's knees almost give in. Strong arms wrap around him though, and lifts him easily. He wraps his legs around Wooyoung's waist and feels his smile against his lips. He laughs breezily, a weight of the unknown finally lifted off him.

And, finally, he isn't free falling anymore. He's landed, safe and warm, in Wooyoung's gentle embrace. 

_ And it feels a little like coming home. _

  
  
  
  
  


_ -When did you realise? _

_ -Realise what? _

_ -That you liked me. _

_ -Hmm…I think I've known all along. _

_ -Wooyoung, ugh you sap. _

  
  
  
  
  


“Wooyoung,” San hisses, “where are we going?”

Wooyoung merely giggles and continues pulling San along, who grows more worried by the minute. It's way past lights out, and Wooyoung is supposed to be on night patrol duty. 

_ Immersed in the novel he was reading, San barely heard the door to his room open as Wooyoung snuck in. However, once he did pick up on the shadow by the door, it ended with Wooyoung sprawled on the floor with San dangerously close to strangling him. _

_ “You,” Wooyoung exhaled breathlessly, “have got to stop this.” _

_ “You,” standing up, San reached out and helped the other up, “have got to stop sneaking in unannounced.” _

_ “Whatever,” Wooyoung glanced at the two sleeping figures, “they sleep like logs, don't they?” _

_ They shared a small chuckle, and San patted the space on the bed beside him, “so what brings you here tonight, Wooyoung?” _

_ “Missed you.” The words were whispered into the soft skin of San's cheek. San placed a hand on his chest, giggling as he slightly pushed Wooyoung back, “are you not on duty?” _

_ Wooyoung pouted, “why can't I visit the light of my life while I'm on duty?” _

_ “You'll get yourself in trouble,” San tutted, but still leaned in to steal a kiss from his lips. _

_ It led to Wooyoung beaming, before rising to his feet. And, to San's surprise, Wooyoung pulled him up too. _

_ “I want to show you something.” _

_ “Wait–” _

Wooyoung finally comes to a stop, and San's eyes wander around them. He realizes they are at the east wing of the base. Above the building and on the roof they stand. Wooyoung releases his warm grip on San's hand and moves a little closer to the edge of the rooftop. A twinge of fear stirs in San's gut and he lightly jogs over to him.

“Why–”

Wooyoung shushes him gently and places his hands on San's shoulders. Softly, he turns him to face the view.

“Look up,” he whispers as if any louder would shatter the dreamy atmosphere. San obliges, raising his head. A small gasp leaves his lips, and his eyes widen in awe. 

The stars, ever so brightly, hang so high up in the clear night sky. Millions of diamonds beaming down onto their small world, and San feels tiny.

“It's beautiful.” San finally manages, and he wishes so bad at that moment for a camera to capture this view.

“Close your eyes.” Wooyoung orders softly. San does so, a little confused but trusting. He listens as Wooyoung takes a few steps and stands before him, he feels as Wooyoung lightly lifts his hand, and he inhales sharply when Wooyoung places a light object in his palm.

“Is this…?”

“You can open your eyes.”

In his hands lies a small camera and San is speechless. The base is strict on electronics, so how…?

“A friend lent me it,” Wooyoung reads his mind, “you always patrol the North wing, where you can't see the stars well. So...I figured I'd bring you over here sometime, and you like photography so that explains the camera...Sannie say something, I–”

San's arms wrap themselves tightly against Wooyoung's torso, effectively cutting off his sentence.

“Thank you,” it comes out muffled from where he presses his face into Wooyoung's shoulder, “thank you so much.”

A little stunned, Wooyoung coils his own arms around San's shoulders. He feels San pull back slightly, but before he can move his lips, San is falling into him, cupping his cheeks and landing a kiss on his lips. His kisses taste of _ thank yous _ and _ I love yous, I'm happy and it's because of you. _

San is twenty-six when he learns that the idea of soulmates isn't a man-made concept. That your soulmate isn't chosen by anyone for you, but your soul and heart before you're even created in a new life. That, at the beginning of time, your soul was torn in equal halves– or more– and the rest of your journey, in all lives you live, you seek to complete your soul. That, at night the universe aligns her stars and moons, her children of light, to help guide your way back to your missing piece, pieces.

San is so sure because, at twenty-six, he finds his missing piece.

  
  
  


_ -You feel like home. _

  
  
  


All good things come to an end. Happiness is never a long-term emotion, there will always be that something which burst your bubble, rips your patched up life apart, or worse. It could feel like sulking and pouting, or it could feel like the entire world you've known? Comes raining down, burning and painful. The comforting blue of the sky that blankets over you safely, the stars that light your way at night? Cut loose and shredded.

For San it feels like falling off a skateboard after managing so well, like skydiving and having fun until you realise your parachute isn't working.

And his skydiving is going so, so well. Until one winter evening, as he casually rests with Wooyoung and the General (who knew the two were actually childhood friends). His parachute failing comes in the form of a soldier knocking on the door, before hastily rushing in, panic and anxiety rolling off him in waves. He leans down, whispers a couple of urgent words into Hyunwoo's ear, who grows a little pale. San raises his eyebrows, watching Hyunwoo's face morph into a series of expressions with each flicker from the warm glow of the fire burning in the old fireplace. A small part of him feels like he knows what's going. The countless nightmares he's ever had gloat and taunt him as the blood rushes in his ears, unable to focus on Hyunwoo's words once the soldier has exited. The three words he picks up on is enough to send every cell in his body into a frenzy state. 

_ “North,” _ , _ “declared,” _ and _ “war.” _

  
  


“We will come out of this together,” Wooyoung promises him, he kisses his words into the plane of San's bare chest. Their legs are tangled underneath the thick blanket, and San absently draws small patterns into Wooyoung's back with a soft finger. The moon shines, albeit it being a half that night, it beams brightly, reassuring. San turns his gaze from the window to the man who lays on his front, the weight of him feeling bearable and sturdy. An anchor, San's anchor.

“Will we?” San muses, a hollow ache in his chest, “you and I, Mingi and Jongho, Hyunwoo.” _Yeosang,_ _Yunho_, _Seonghwa_, _Hongjoong,_ he thinks of them too.

Gentle yet firm fingers softly grip his chin, forcing him to focus his previously averted gaze onto Wooyoung.

“We will.” He repeats strongly, sounding so sure that San almost believes him. Almost, because this is war and which kind of universe or deity would be generous enough to leave not his eight friends– his eight _ brothers– _ but also himself alive?

But for Wooyoung's sake, he nods along slowly. He braves a smile and leans forward to steal a kiss. He takes some more because he's afraid of them being his last, and Wooyoung gladly complies. Desperation claws at San and he pushes against Wooyoung harder, sitting up and pushing Wooyoung a little to lay down instead. He takes and takes what Wooyoung gives him, but gives back what Wooyoung wishes to take. And, for a night before a catastrophic calamity, it comes to feel oddly calming. He lets loose and forgets, he spends the night with the person he wishes to protect the most, the inner voice in his mind swearing over and over again to keep him safe, to keep him alive.

At dawn, he awakens and quietly treads to his own room, where finds Mingi kneeled down in front of the window. It throws him off a little, he knows Mingi is a man of no religion, so who could he possibly be praying to?

Yet, ever so slowly, San kneels besides him, unmoving. He doesn't pray, he simply sits besides his best friend out of respect. He studies Mingi, he has his palms resting on his lap instead of upwards towards the sky like most faiths go. So, San wonders if he _ is praying _. His face is void of any emotion but something solemn, his eyes closed and he looks somewhat at peace. 

Some quiet moments pass, before Mingi opens his eyes, and turns to San.

“You don't need to be following a religion to pray, you don't need Gods either. You can pray to yourself, promise yourself you will try your hardest, swear you will put your all in for yourself. Make that promise then _ trust yourself.” _

San nods, and understands. So he copies Mingi's stance and closes his eyes. He swears an oath to himself, to protect himself and his loved ones, he prays a promise to reach his limits and exceed them, to fight bone and teeth for himself and his family. Once he is done, he turns to face Mingi again. The other is already glancing at him, a tiny smile on his lips.

“We made it alive all these years, if anything happens, San, we will find a way back to each other. Whether it's in this life or not.”

Mingi's arms come up to hold onto San's torso, “I will always find you.”

Unable to speak, San nods, and grips onto the back of his best friend's shirt.

At that moment, the door opens and Jongho enters. He takes a look at the two on the floor and pauses for a moment. Before his vision blurs and San suddenly has an armful of Jongho too.

“It's okay,” he laughs a little, “Jongho, baby. I know you will do great out there.” He catches Mingi gaze above Jongho's head, and they share a painful look. Because, no matter how much San braves face and reassures Jongho strongly, the dices of fate do not lie in their hands.

Yet, he rubs Jongho's back, comfortingly. He whispers soothing words and Mingi tickles him a little to make their youngest friend laugh some. Because that's what they need right now, some laughter to numb the dreadful events. It works, a little. Until the call to prepare themselves sounds. And at that San rises to his feet, fixing on his brave facade. He stretches his hands out for his friends and helps them up. Silently, he presses a kiss onto both their foreheads, before moving away to prepare himself. It feels like a goodbye, but he wills himself to believe it's a see you soon.

  
  
  


The air at the battlefield is cold and whips harshly at San's numb skin even though it is covered by his armour. He listens to Hyunwoo's last words of encouragement, and wills every last cell in him to believe in himself. To go all in.

It mostly works, because in the next moment San is viciously slashing his blade across his enemies. He couldn't hate them, because they too were puppets playing a fatal game for their government.

The fog becomes thicker, and every hair on the skin of San stands as he is left to cautiously look around. Every now and then, he thinks he can hear Mingi's shouts and that's good, so good.

He moves to a side before he trips over something. It's a body, from the opposing army. Yet he still wishes a small prayer for the dead and continues barrelling forward. His head throbs and his ears fill with the sound of hundreds or thousands of clashing weapons and screams powered by adrenaline or pain.

Someone slashes at him, and as fast as he is, the tip of the blade still catches the skin of his forehead. It blinds his left eye with pouring blood, but his arms move on their own will, driving forward with such force San didn't know he had within him. He wins, but the brute force it sucked out of him causes him to collapse, exhausted and tired.

However, from the corner of his eye, he spots Jongho duelling with another. And from behind him, another man who is almost twice his size moves towards him. San isn't sure what fuels him, but rage blinds his vision. Seeing through red, he is quick on his feet and shoves the man away from his friend's back. Pulling out his own weapon, white, seething anger leads him blindly raise his arm up. And bring it down mercilessly, again and again and again. Until the man beneath him does no longer look to be one. That's when San snaps into himself, and he feels sick to the stomach. He staggers off the man, and empties the contents of his stomach before tears sting at his eyes and he is on his knees, the act he'd just done finally catching up to him.

He cries and retches some more, before he is pulled into some arms.

“It's okay, it's over,” a voice, Mingi_ , _ repeats over and over.

San's head snaps up and he registers the eerie silence, the retreated army, the fog clearing up.

“We...made it?”

Mingi sniffs and nods.

Glancing around at the unmoving bodies on the ground, fear grips San's throat, “Wooyoung…”

He rises to his feet so fast that he is dizzy but he steps forward, calling out Wooyoung's name desperately. He sees Jongho sitting up with another man, but the only person on his mind is nowhere to be seen. So he screams his name louder, almost hysterically. 

But there is no response.

And then, San's eyes land on a man who lays on his back, in his own pool of sticky blood. A man who is missing a leg and is heavily bleeding somewhere from his torso. San stills and his knees buckle, giving in under his weight.

“Wooyoung...?” The name is whispered unbelievably, and San remains rooted away from him because he's afraid. Afraid it really is Wooyoung. 

Until the man sputters blood, and San races to his side. Softly, moves his head to lay in lap.

“Wooyoung, baby, Wooyoung– _ please,” _ his voice is hoarse and breaking, like the rest of him. The man cradled in his arms struggles to smile, dark red liquid of his own blood matted to his skin and teeth.

“San– Sannie,” he breaks into a cough, his whole body trembling from the impact. San shushes him, over and over, hot tears cloud his vision and he begins to sputter anything. Cries of hope. Words of prayer. San hasn't prayed to God since his graduation party dinner. But he prays and prays and shakes with his own cries. He prays to any God out there, he prays to the sun, the stars, and the whole universe. He prays and begs to any deity willing to listen to his pleas. But it's no use, and the man in his arms loses life with each and every shallow breath he can muster.

“You _ promised _ ,” desperation evident in his tone, “you promised we'd come out of this... _ together. _ ” A sob erupts within him and he is forced to lean forward from the force of it. The flesh of his knees dig into the hard, rocky surface of the unforgiving ground, but he pays it no mind. Instead he watches, whimpering as Wooyoung's lips mouth words, _ please don't cry, _ and the tears flow harder, the throbbing pain in his heart becoming unbearable, he rips and shreds and _ hurts, _ hurts so much. 

“I'm...sorry,” The man in his arms can barely manage the two words. San wants to scream at him to stop talking, to stop acting like this is the last he will _ be _.

“You–_ you _ were the best...thing that—” Wooyoung is cut off by a sharp intake of breath, but he staggers on, “that ever happened. To me.”

Whimpering, San lets Wooyoung slowly cover his small hand with his own large palm. He watches as Wooyoung closes his almost lifeless eyes and reduces to half the man he is, becomes a shell of who he is.

And in that moment, San curses at the sky, curses at the Gods and moon and stars, for choosing Wooyoung instead of him. He curses himself for not protecting Wooyoung enough. The urge to rip and claw at himself for failing to keep his, his– _ love _ safe. And Wooyoung who tries to focus his gaze on San, attempts to shake his head weakly. 

So it seems that even in dying, Wooyoung is able to read San as an open book.

“Don't,” he inhales, and San blinks swiftly to peer at him properly, but his vision still swims like an endless sea.

“Not your fault,”

“_ Wooyoung–” _

_ “ _I love...you.” The words are whispered with great effort, and they ring in San's ears,like a broken bell. Louder than the mourning chaos around them, louder than the screaming thrum of his own beating heart.

“So,” Wooyoung opens his eyes once again and locks eyes with the man who holds him so dearly. “Continue...continue to love yourself. For me.” It's the longest and most fluent sentence Wooyoung has formed so far.

  
  
  


_ And it is also his last. _

  
  


_ (San is twenty-eight when the war finally ends). _

  
  
  
  


“He lives on,” Mingi's slender fingers tap lightly at his own chest, just above his frantically beating heart. The blood rushes loudly in his ears and blocks out the busy city life several feet below them.

“He lives on inside you, your heart beats for you and him both.” San shuts his eyes and exhales slowly. He turns his face upwards to the grey, dripping sky, as though in question. _ Wooyoung, are you really here, with me? _

“So don't, don't ever let it stop beating. Don't ever do this, San. Not to me, not to your friends, not to Wooyoung. And not to yourself.” The words as ever so soft, and it makes something inside San ache painfully because he feels undeserving of such gentleness. A wave of exhaustion washes over him, nearly taking him under. _He's_ _just so tired, he wants this all to stop._

Sluggishly, he takes a step away from the edge of the building, the brim of death and closer to Mingi. And again, again until he reaches his best friend and falls just short of him. But the ground does not get the chance to dig sharply at him because Mingi rushes forward and embraces him, gathering San in his arms.

“It's okay buddy,” he gently pats San's back, “let it out, let yourself grieve.”

And San cries. He cries and sobs and wails, the loudest he has since that day. He allows himself to peer into the gaping hole in his chest and acknowledge the pain. For the first time since the death, _ San lets himself grieve _.

  
  
  


_ I miss you. _

  
  
  


“I'll do it.” His fingers nervously pick at each other, and he wants to eat the words and hide away. It's too late, Mingi has put down his cellphone and turned his attention to the man stood half hidden in the shadows of the hallway.

“Do what?” He asks, shifting on the couch.

“I'll,” deep breath, he musters all the courage within him. He shouldn't be scared since it's only Mingi, but he is terrified, “I'll get help.” He eventually manages to mumble. Mingi eyes him for a moment. The man before him is the shell of what his best friend was. Small, bony body drowning in a large, grey sweater (Wooyoung's sweater), hair greasy and unwashed. Eyes tired and sunken into his skinny face. Lips a little dry and cracked, voice hoarse and scratchy. It tugs at Mingi, who can do nothing but watch his best friend slowly lose himself.

But in this moment, as San shifts his weight from one foot to another anxiously, Mingi's eyes well with relieved tears. He feels pride bloom in his chest, a weight being lifted off him and San both. He rises to his feet, and San lets out a little gasp at the sudden, tight embrace.

Mingi releases a long, deep breath, sounding wet with the tears that dampen his cheeks. And thanks him over and over again. He tells him Wooyoung would be proud, so proud.

For the first time in a long time, San tries to stretch his lips into a small smile.

He's thirty-one when he opens a new book, picks up a new pen, and learns to write his story again. 

  
  


_ I hope you are proud of me. _

  
  
  
  
  


End.


End file.
